


A Smashing Good Time

by ghastlyAlkali



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Canon-Typical spiders, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Obligatory cabin fic, Safehouses, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Sharing a Bed, post-159, pre-160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25762945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghastlyAlkali/pseuds/ghastlyAlkali
Summary: “Jon! Christ –,” Martin came barreling into the kitchen, hands raised and clenched into fists. Upon seeing that they were not under attack, he slowed down. Jon didn’t look at him, eyes still on that mess of ceramic shards and liquid.-Jon has a bad night. Luckily, he has Martin there to take care of him.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 18
Kudos: 178





	A Smashing Good Time

It was going to be one of those bad nights, Jon could tell. If nothing else, the smashing of his favorite mug – one of those silly cow mugs Martin had bought him at the market – portended nothing good. His fingers were shaking too badly to hold onto the handle properly and it had just slipped out of his fingers. He stared at the spreading puddle of tea as he tried to push past his feelings of exhaustion to start the laborious process of cleaning it up. He had made himself a cup of tea to have something warm in his hands, breathe in the faint aroma, and try to calm his racing heart, but that had obviously been doomed to failure. There was a muffled shout from the bedroom, and then the door was flung open.

“Jon! Christ –,” Martin came barreling into the kitchen, hands raised and clenched into fists. Upon seeing that they were not under attack, he slowed down. Jon didn’t look at him, eyes still on that mess of ceramic shards and liquid. Distantly, he heard Martin cautiously approach him, footsteps soft on the linoleum.

“Jon? You alright?” He felt a hand on his elbow and jumped slightly. Jon broke his gaze from the mess and turned to look at Martin. His brow was furrowed with concern, and his eyes were still half-lidded from interrupted sleep. Jon had managed to extricate himself from the bed after gasping himself awake, a scream caught in his throat, without waking Martin, but now he just _had_ to drop the mug and pull him out of dreadfully needed sleep.

“Yeah, sorry for waking you,” Jon rasped, guiltily. He cleared his throat. “I just…” he trailed off, lips tightening.

“Bad night?”

Jon hummed in agreement, then sighed. “I need to clean this up before we go back to bed.”

“Jon, you’re still shaking.” Martin’s voice was full of worry. “Stay there, I’ll be right back.” He left, heading back towards their bedroom.

Was he shaking? He glanced down at his hands. It looked like the tremors had spread up his arms and into the rest of his body. No wonder he felt so off. He hated when he felt like this, so unsettled and jumping at cobwebs. It felt like everything was an enemy, waiting for its chance to strike from the shadows.

Suddenly, he was cocooned in one of the thick, woolen blankets from the bed. Jon hadn’t noticed Martin’s return. Well, at least not everything was out to get him.

“Let’s just sit down on the couch for a while,” Martin said softly, leading him into the living room. Even though it was the middle of the night, the moonlight shining gently through the windows of the cabin lent a more soothing atmosphere to the quiet. They sat on Daisy’s ancient couch, and it wheezed a bit under their combined weight.

Martin drew him gently to his side, his arms a comforting weight on his back. A hush fell, both of them thinking about what they want to say.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Martin asked at length, breaking the silence.

Jon breathed out shakily, the tremors from before not yet abated. “I actually think I might. I know I’m not … the best at telling people when things are bothering me, but I’ve been trying to be better.” He reached inside, trying to feel out the cracks around the Door in his mind like worrying a sore tooth, but as always, the Eye couldn’t penetrate the weaving of the Web.

“I’m just concerned about the machinations of the Web. We haven’t heard from them in a while, and I Know they’re doing something, I just can’t see what it is. And that bothers me, almost more than the Hunters and Eli-Jonah. I can’t tell whether what they want is coming up soon or in the distant future. They’ve never attempted a ritual, but that isn’t because they lack a plan.” Jon rubbed at his eyes, pressing hard enough to turn his vision to static. 

He inhaled deeply, coming to a decision. He hadn’t ever told anyone about this, but he truly wanted to tell Martin, to let that part of himself be seen. Jon pulled the blankets more tightly around himself.

“There’s a reason why I’ve been more affected by spiders than perhaps any of the other Entities. Have you ever wondered why it was that when I scoffed at and derided the stories that would come in, I would never question an account of someone’s encounter with a Leitner?” Martin looked taken aback for a moment, before sucking in air sharply, visibly putting the pieces together.

“Because you’d had an encounter with a Leitner, too,” he breathed, incredulity and concern in his tone.

Jon’s heart was speeding up, and he tried to remind himself that the danger was past, years past, but his body was still in overdrive from earlier and had a hard time listening. “Indeed,” he said, voice tight. “I’m very lucky to be alive now, in all honesty.”

Jon sighed. “When I was around eight years old, I was reading a book that was titled A Guest for Mr. Spider. The inside of the front page marked it as being from the library of Jurgen Leitner, although it would be many years before I knew what a grim omen it was.” Jon took a deep breath to try and steady himself.

“Suffice to say, the book was short but gruesome, and I found myself about to knock on the door in the book, miles and hours from where I last thought myself to be.” Martin’s grip tightened on his arm, his thumb smoothing over the skin there in soothing repetition. “However, a childhood bully of mine chose that moment to antagonize me, knocking the book out of my hands. That broke the hold the book had over me, the,” Jon shuddered, “strings pulling me closer. The bully picked up the book, and it ensnared him like it did me. He knocked on the door, and I saw eight thin, hairy black legs reach out, grab him, and yank him through the doorway. I never saw him again.”

“Wow, that sounds absolutely horrid,” said Martin, aghast. “No wonder you can’t stand spiders.” Jon nodded. Martin hugged him tighter. “Thank you for telling me,” he said quietly. Jon extricated an arm from the blankets and grabbed the hand on his shoulder, interlacing their fingers and squeezing.

“I’ve never told anyone that story,” Jon admitted. The words didn’t seem as hard to say, in that twilight zone between waking and sleeping. He was glad he could find solace in Martin’s quiet strength and comfort, sorely missed in the months after waking up from his coma.

They didn’t say anything for a long while, taking comfort in the slow breathing and distant creaking of the cabin. Eventually, Martin pushed himself off the couch, offering a hand to Jon. He accepted, dragging the blanket with him.

“We should get some sleep,” Martin murmured. “We can worry about everything tomorrow, after we've had time to rest.”

“Alright,” agreed Jon, just as quietly. 

“I’ll just tidy up the kitchen real quick while you get set up, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

Jon wanted to protest, but the thought of even walking to the kitchen was draining. He could be sensible on occasion, and recognized Martin’s need to take care of him as well as he was able, so instead he smiled and leaned forward, brushing his lips against his cheek.

“I’ll be waiting,” Jon said, lips still quirked up.

“Go on then,” Martin shooed, squeezing his hand one last time before withdrawing, heading for the nearest broom. Jon looked after him for a moment, warmth filling his chest.

He made his way back to the bedroom, and Jon settled onto the mattress, curling underneath all the blankets. He could hear the soft clinking of mug shards being swept up and deposited into the bin, the sound a comforting reminder of his presence. A few minutes later, Martin slipped under the covers, Martin’s broad, comfortable form blanketing him from behind, a solid anchor to ground himself with. They whispered their goodnights to each other. Jon felt himself smile faintly, because despite all the danger they had faced, all the obstacles they had yet to overcome, he still had this. The soft breathing behind him and the warm fullness in his chest buoyed him as he drifted off.

**Author's Note:**

> After all my years of reading fanfiction, I've never come across a fandom that inspired me to write any myself! Please let me know how it turned out!
> 
> In other news, I'm just trying to hold onto the fluff for as long as I can before the rest of season 5 inevitably crushes my soul. Good luck to us all.


End file.
